


Nothing Quite Like

by alwayseven



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwayseven/pseuds/alwayseven





	Nothing Quite Like

Jon’s been an ‘official’ member of the band, with a contract and a salary and his own bunk, for just under two months.

It’s been the craziest two months of his life and he’s still getting his bearings, figuring shit out, figuring out his place.

There’s a lot of down time. Time spent on the bus, driving between cities, the stretch of endless highway monotonous; time at the venue, between sound check and show time, when curing boredom becomes an experiment.

A lot of down time that Jon spends watching Ryan, Spencer and Brendon, watching the way they interact with each other, the way they include him in their jokes and stories like they’re trying to make it explicitly clear how much he’s wanted.

Saying yes when they asked him to join as a permanent member of the band was never a decision he had to think about. They were friends, he figured they knew each other as well as they needed to.

There’s so much that comes spilling out after months of living together in cramped narrow spaces, sharing everything from apple juice boxes and gummi bears to clean socks and underwear when one of them runs out.

Jon leaves Ryan alone if they have to be up before ten am, has learned that morning doesn’t suit any of them but Ryan in particular is a bitch to be around before breakfast and coffee.

Spencer’s quiet in public, says few words to journalists and promoters and other people but when it’s gone back to the close circle of people they keep around them, he changes, shedding that quiet, observant side like an old skin he doesn’t need anymore.

And then there’s Brendon who wears everything on his sleeve, doesn’t bother hiding his annoyance in an interview or his joy when Zack picks him up and throws him over his shoulder like he weighs no more than a sack of flour.

Jon knew, after four months on tour with Panic, still teching for The Academy Is... that Brendon couldn’t hold his liquor, that he slept with a rag that had once resembled an actual blanket and that he was an affectionate guy. That part, the affectionate part, came out at random times, laying his head on Spencer’s shoulder during a meet and greet, wrapping his arms around Ryan from behind and kissing the back of his neck, begging Zack to let him take a nap curled up in his lap. What surprised Jon was how quickly Jon became one of the people Brendon leaned on.

Now, two months into being the fourth of member of Panic! at the Disco and just under a month living on a bus as one of them, Jon’s found a mostly comfortable place to grow into.

* * *

They’re somewhere on I 71, heading west for a show in Columbus. They’re not far out from the venue, it’s a little before lunch and the bus is mostly quiet, everyone doing their own thing before the chaos of the afternoon.

Sharing a bus with a bunch of guys for a prolonged period of time means they’ve mostly fallen out of the habit of pleasantries and niceties, the manners their parents so patiently taught them getting set aside out of laziness. So Jon doesn’t bother knocking when he has to use the bathroom, pushing the narrow door open and stopping dead.

Brendon’s pulling his jeans up over a scrap of pale pink lace, his dick an obscene outline against the delicate material.

It’s not the panties that catch his attention so much, though later it’s what he’ll think about as he slides his fist over his cock and comes with his t-shirt pulled up over his face, muffling his moans.

That part is shocking, enough to make Jon stop and stare but it’s not what makes the shiver shoot up his spine or the flush start in his cheeks.

Brendon’s legs, what he can see of them as they disappear into his impossibly tight jeans, are pale and skinny. And completely hairless. It’s so unexpected, even more so than the panties (and how fucked up is that) that Jon’s completely stunned into immobility.

He stands there like a moron, his mouth open, his chest feeling a little like he can’t catch his breath, as Brendon just zips up his jeans and pulls his t-shirt down over the hem, waiting for Jon to say something or move. He doesn’t look shocked, or embarrassed, he doesn’t stammer or beg Jon not to say anything, he just continues as if Jon isn’t there gawking like he’s at a peep show.

Jon mumbles something, or thinks he does, he means to but all that comes out is a jumble of sound before he turns, lets the door slam behind him with a loud tinny thud and disappears into his bunk.

* * *

The thing is, Brendon wears girl jeans. His favorite hoodie is lavender. He wears bright pink sneakers and red glasses and sticks flowers he finds behind his ear and thinks Beauty and the Beast is second only to the Little Mermaid in terms of classic Disney soundtracks.

It shouldn’t be all that surprising. But it shocks the hell out of Jon, to the point that he’s almost sure he imagined it because it’s just. Wow. It’s not weird so much, he can think of weirder things, it’s just. Unexpected.

Jon spends the forty-five minutes it takes to get to Columbus lying in his bunk, steadfastly ignoring his hard-on and staring at the ceiling. He refuses to jerk off on basic principle.

So Brendon wears girl underwear. And shaves his legs. So what, no big deal.

Except it sort of is a big deal, apparently because Jon can’t stop thinking about how smooth Brendon’s skin looked, high up on his thighs where the scrappy lace pressed against his skin, or how the panties did incredible, amazing things for Brendon’s ass, impossibly more-so than the second skin jeans he wears.

He feels the bus slow down as they pull off the interstate and he rolls to his stomach, groaning into the pillow.

He feels like maybe he should have expected this, seen it coming or something, except how could he have, he has nothing in his life to compare this to. Sure, William Beckett looked a lot like a pretty girl in certain light, but he didn’t, to the best of Jon’s knowledge, wear girl panties or have an ass that made Jon think the dirtiest things.

“Oh fuck me,” he mutters, his hips pressing into the thin mattress, shifting and rubbing, looking for that perfect friction. He lets out a shaky breath and gives in, shoves his hand into his jeans and underwear, closes his eyes and jerks himself off. He comes, sticky and wet all over his fist, thinking about Brendon’s thighs and wanting to see if the skin there tastes like he think it will, clean and soft, slightly sweaty.

He pulls his hand out of his underwear, wipes the mess off on the corner of his shirt and rolls out of his bunk to look for clean clothes.

* * *

Jon’s seen Brendon shirtless, tons of times. Or at least, he thought he had. But that night, after a horribly awkward sound check in which he can’t stop watching Brendon, waiting for any kind of glimpse that he hadn’t imagined it all, he realizes that he’s never actually seen Brendon get undressed in front of them. He’d never really paid attention, there wasn’t any reason to. He pays attention now. He watches Brendon apply eyeliner and fix his hair, practice his vocal warm ups and then, ten minutes before they’re supposed to go on he grabs his costume and disappears into the bathroom.

Huh. And the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he’s never seen Brendon in a t-shirt that doesn’t cover his stomach, or in shorts of any kind, not even hanging out in the lounge after a show. Which, yeah makes sense, now that Jon knows what he knows.

He spent the better part of the afternoon trying to catch Brendon’s eye, and when he did, Brendon never looked like anything had happened, just smiled back, easy and wide.

Which sort of made everything worse, since this was a big fucking deal and Brendon. Brendon was acting like nothing had changed.

* * *

Jon really really wants to talk about this with someone. Actually, it feels a lot like a need, building up hot and heavy in his chest. He has questions, things he wants to know, like _how long has this been going on_ and _who else knows_. But, “did you know Brendon shaves his legs and wears women’s underwear?” is not a good conversation starter. And actually, even if Jon feels like he’s dying from not knowing, it’s not really any of his business.

So he doesn’t say anything.

What he does is spend a lot of time thinking about the way Brendon’s pale, smooth legs looked as he pulled his jeans up and over his hips, over the simple satin bikini panties, the way they formed a startling, compelling contrast with the line of Brendon’s cock pushing up against the soft fabric.

He’s replaying the scene in his head for the fourth time, not twelve hours after the fact, having alone time in his bunk and failing to fall asleep, when he realizes Brendon had been hard. That thought hits him so quick and sudden he actually says “huh” out loud before he winces and presses his hand to his forehead.

He’d been so focused, and obsessed, with the fact that Brendon shaved his legs that he didn’t notice until now, until he’s watching it in his mind like a slow motion recap. Fuck, Brendon’s dick just complicates things, makes Jon that much more curious about the whole thing, the whys and the whens.

He rolls to his side, facing the wall of his bunk and stares at the cracks in the fake wood paneling.

He’s never going to fall asleep.

* * *

He wakes up and they’re in Chicago and Jon feels light again, just for a bit when he thinks about his parents and brothers coming to the show tonight, that they get to meet the band, _his_ band.

When he goes to the front of the bus looking for coffee, everyone else is already up.

Jon takes the empty seat, sits next to Brendon in the cramped booth. He’s wearing a blue-t-shirt with the neck slightly stretched out so that when he raises his arm to reach for the milk, it slips down his shoulder and Jon catches a glimpse of a delicate lacy blue strap before Brendon shifts and the shirt slides back into place.

Jon stares at Brendon’s shoulder like he can will the shirt into slipping off again.

Brendon turns his head, catches him staring and gives him a bright, sleepy morning smile.

“You going to introduce us to your mom, Jon Walker?” He says, gripping his coffee cup with both hands and looking over the rim at Jon with eyes wide and soft with sleep around the corners.

Jon says something like “uh huh,” cool and casual and doesn’t hear a word anyone says.

He eats his breakfast with his head ducked down and absolutely does not sneak glances at Brendon’s chest.

* * *

So they can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. Well, maybe Jon could if he wanted to, but he doesn’t want to, he wants to know about it, to see it again, to see if Brendon’s smooth and hairless like that all over, or if it’s just his legs. He wants to know if that was a bra strap he saw under Brendon’s t-shirt or something else.

Jon’s not a fan of secrets, he doesn’t have any of his own and he hates having to hide things.

So Jon sits down next to Brendon in the back lounge that night when it’s just the two of them and says, “is this a Fight Club kind of thing?"

Brendon looks up, startled, and stares blankly at Jon for a beat, like he’s thinking of pretending he doesn’t get the meaning. And then he shrugs. “No. Not really.”

He swallows, licks his lower lip before digging his teeth into it like he does when he’s trying to think of the right thing to say.

“I just. Um. No one’s ever known about it before. Before you.”

Oh. That’s sort of a big deal. Like super fucking big, this thing that is so private and personal to Brendon that he hasn’t shared it with anyone and Jon comes stumbling along to accidentally figure it out.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, really truthfully sorry, not that he knows about it but sorry for Brendon that he’s the one to know, to share this secret.

Brendon lifts his hand like he’s thinking of reaching out and touching Jon but he drops it, unsure. “I’m not,” he says, clear and firm, eyes locked with Jon’s. Jon believes him.

“Oh. Good,” Jon says. “Can I. Can I ask something?”

Brendon tilts his head, yes.

“Why?”

Brendon looks away then, looks down at his lap and then back up. “I like the way it makes me feel,” he says plainly, like that’s all there is to it. He says it so matter of factly it makes Jon wonder what else Brendon’s into that he doesn’t share.

Huh. Jon opens his mouth to ask him to how it makes him feel and then Brendon’s answering anyway, like he knew what Jon wants to know.

“Pretty. Soft.” Brendon says it quietly with a little smile on his lips, sort of spacey. And then his expression shifts into something darker, still unfocused, and he presses his fingers to the front of his jeans, absently like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.

“And god,” Brendon says on a shiver, voice gone low and rough, “so fucking horny.”

And fuck, that’s not something Jon needs to hear, more fuel for the fire. He already knows, can’t get the image of Brendon’s dick - hard underneath the soft material - out of his head.

“How long?” Jon doesn’t mean for this to become a game of twenty questions but Brendon’s just sitting there, all calm and collected and Jon has things he wants to know.

Brendon shrugs, tilts his head. “Um, I don’t know, a while. A year, maybe?”

Oh.

“Oh.” He and Brendon are sitting there staring at each other and it’s not awkward so much as it’s just really really weird.

* * *

It’s incredibly naive of Jon but it doesn’t really sink in how much of a sexual thing it is for Brendon until that afternoon and a particularly long and painful interview with a journalist from Billboard Magazine.

Jon tunes out another question about Brent, lets Spencer field this one this time, and spends the hour and three minutes watching Brendon.

He takes the restless squirming Brendon’s doing as typical Brendon response to mind-numbing boredom until he notices the faint sheen of sweat at his hairline and the dull pink high on his cheeks. Brendon’s biting his lip and keeps darting his eyes to the clock on the wall.

Jon’s sitting across from Brendon, who’s sharing the love seat with the journalist and Jon can’t look away from the shallow rise and fall of Brendon’s chest and the way he keeps shifting, uncrossing and re-crossing his legs.

The interview ends, the journalist thanks them for their time and Brendon practically races out of the room.

Jon follows him down the hall to the single person bathroom and pushes in behind him.

Brendon turns, startled as Jon lets the door fall closed behind him. He throws the lock and leans against it, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.

“What. Jon.” Brendon stutters a bit, his face flushed, hair falling in his eyes, damp with sweat. “What are you doing?” It comes out hoarse and shaky.

“Show me,” Jon says. Whatever this is that they’re doing, this thing he’s starting, he has a feeling it’s a really terrible idea. But Brendon’s shuddering and breathing shallowly and Jon didn’t sleep at all last night. So. He wants to know.

Brendon’s eyes are wide, deer in headlights, and he’s shaking. He doesn’t say anything for a beat and Jon wonders if Brendon’s gonna say “fuck it” and just leave. But then Brendon lets out a low moan and fumbles for the snap of his jeans, gets them open and pushed just barely down around his thighs. There’s that smooth pale skin again, just a glimpse of it and Jon can’t look away. Brendon doesn’t bother with the panties, just presses his palm to the front, rubs a couple of times and folds in on himself. His shoulders shake and he’s watching Jon, looking completely wrecked, his lips wet, mouth slightly open. Jon just watches as Brendon digs his palm in harder against his dick, his fingers curling and then Brendon cries out, slightly shocked and comes, shuddering.

“Holy shit. Brendon,” Jon breathes but he doesn’t move, he can’t. He can’t look away either and Brendon’s just standing there, shaking as he comes down, flushed and sweaty. His hand still cupping his dick around his underwear, which are dark pink today.

“Come here,” Jon says but it’s scratchy and hoarse and doesn’t sound at all as in charge as he wanted it to.

Brendon looks up, startled, and he looks like he’s thinking about it before he makes up his mind, shuffles forward with his jeans still bunched high on his thighs.

Up close like this, when Jon looks down he can see where the material is wet, stained with Brendon’s come. Jon hooks his finger in the waist and pulls it away from Brendon’s skin to see where it’s wet and sticky.

Brendon’s eyes never leave Jon’s face, like he’s frozen in shock. Jon presses the tips of his fingers flat against the sweaty, come-wet skin of Brendon’s lower belly, slides them lower and he’s maybe only a little surprised when his fingers find only skin, hairless and smooth.

He groans then, heat rushing everywhere, his dick hard, pushing against his jeans.

“Do you want.” Brendon pauses, uncertain. “Do you want me to?” And he doesn’t finish, just leaves it hanging heavy between them.

Jon shakes his head. He twists his fingers in Brendon’s hair, the soft strands at the back of his neck, rubs his thumb over the skin below his earlobe.

He’s not at all sure what he’s doing, standing there with one hand in Brendon’s girly, come-stained panties, the other in his hair.

Brendon’s holding his breath or something because all Jon can hear is the rush of his own breathing, heavy and loud in his ears.

Jon shifts, settling more firmly against the door and Brendon falls against him, hips knocking into Jon’s, Jon’s legs cradling Brendon’s. Jon tightens his fingers in Brendon’s hair, thinks for a split second, _I want this_ , and pulls Brendon close enough to brush his open mouth once, soft and fleeting across Brendon’s.

Brendon’s eyes are wide open, startled but he doesn’t pull away or push closer, just stands there waiting for Jon to do something.

Jon just takes it in, Brendon’s open jeans and the faint smell of sweat but also something soft and girly, like body splash or something. He can smell Brendon’s come, too, drying sticky against his stomach and he inhales a little, and it’s so, fuck, it’s musky and smells not that different from his own but it’s Brendon and it makes him hot everywhere, flushed and so fucking hard. It’s sudden, how much he wants this, wants Brendon. He wants to know what Brendon feels like, underneath him, he wants to know what Brendon tastes like, what gets him off. He wants to know what else there is, if it’s just the panties and the shaving or if there are other, dirtier, darker things that get Brendon going. He wants it all.

He pulls back, yanks his hand from Brendon’s underwear suddenly. “Sorry,” he says, chokes out, really, his voice scratchy and rough. His fingers are awkward and fumbling as he pulls Brendon’s jeans up over his hips and gets them buttoned. Brendon just watches, confused.

“Sorry, fuck, sorry,” Jon mutters, pushing a hand through his hair and setting Brendon back from him with a hand on his waist.

Brendon stumbles backwards, unsure but there’s enough room for Jon to unlock the door and get the hell out of there.

Fuck.

* * *

He makes it back to the bus, manages to get himself locked in the narrow cramped bathroom and get his jeans and underwear down around his thighs. His fingers smell like Brendon, like come and sweat and Jon inhales deeply, shuddering as he wraps his other hand around his dick. It takes less than three strokes and he comes hard, into his hand.

“Shit,” he breathes, chest heaving. His reflection in the small mirror above the sink is shell shocked. He rinses his hand, the one he came in, under cool water and absolutely doesn’t look at himself as he ignores the other one, the one with the faint reminder of Brendon.

Jon hides out in the bus until Zack rounds him up for sound check.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He’d been hard, so fucking hard, and Brendon was standing there, jeans around his thighs, willing for whatever. And Jon. Well. Jon doesn’t know what the fuck is going on in his head and he sort of needs to get his bearings.

His head is an endless loop of this afternoon, of Brendon’s wet lacy underwear, the hairless skin above his dick, the smell of him on Jon’s fingers. He tries to distract himself with his music, a dvd and finally he gives up and spreads out on the sofa in the lounge, hands folded underneath his head, staring out the window at nothing and thinks about Brendon, the way he looked when he came, the way he sounded, fuck, the way he _smelled_.

* * *

Jon spends extra time out by the barricades after the show, signing autographs and fielding marriage proposals. He stays until he’s the only one out there and Zack’s getting annoyed, until finally Zack just wraps his arm around Jon’s waist and all but hauls him back on the bus.

Brendon’s in his sleep pants, sitting on the narrow kitchen counter drinking a mug of warm milk like he does when he’s trying to calm down after a show before bed.

He looks up at Jon when he comes on to the bus and he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t smile like he usually does when he sees Jon but he doesn’t get up and leave either, just sips his milk and watches Jon. Jon thinks that’s an okay sign.

“Hey.” Jon’s exhausted. Brendon nods, feet kicking against the counter. “Okay,” Jon says awkwardly and disappears to the bunk area. He gets his own pajamas on and crawls into his bunk but doesn’t sleep. He listens to the sounds as the engine starts up, the motion and vibration as they pull out of the parking lot. Eventually, when Jon’s pretty sure he’s been trying to sleep for at least an hour, he rolls himself out of his bunk and goes to Brendon’s. Brendon’s curtain is closed and Jon stands there for a second before pulling it back. Brendon looks up, startled. After a beat he rolls to his side, makes room for Jon. Jon crawls in, leaves as much room between them as is possible in such narrow cramped space.

Jon’s not entirely sure what he’s doing here but he opens his mouth to say something, an apology, maybe, or something but Brendon cuts him off.

“No,” Brendon says, soft enough not to wake anyone but firm. “You listen. That was shitty, what you did this afternoon. And now you’re acting all weird. Don’t.”

Brendon says it like it’s that simple, don’t act weird.

Jon doesn’t know what to say to that so he says nothing.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Brendon says after a bit, after a lot of minutes of Jon staring at the ceiling and and Brendon staring at Jon.

Jon doesn’t say anything. Yes, he sort of wants to.

“Are you gay?” Jon asks, blunt because fuck, the time for tiptoeing is long gone.

“Does it matter?” Brendon says.

Jon hisses and before he can say something pissed off Brendon huffs, “shit, sorry. That was. Sorry,” he mumbles, and after a second he scoots closer, his hips nudging up against Jon’s side, close enough so Jon can feel Brendon’s breath against his cheek.

“I think. Yes,” Brendon breathes out and Jon turns to look at him and he’s got his forehead against the pillow, his eyes closed, shoulders hunched like he’s afraid Jon’s going to hit him or push him out of his bunk.

“I’m the first person you’ve said that to,” Jon says quietly because it’s so apparent, Brendon’s body language screaming it out.

Brendon just nods.

“But not the first guy you’ve...” Jon trails off, he doesn’t want to finish that thought out loud because they didn’t do anything, Jon watched Brendon come in his underwear (girl’s underwear, yes) and they had an almost kiss. But that’s it.

Brendon shakes his head.

“Have you ever?” Brendon asks, opening his eyes then and looking at Jon.

Brendon’s pretty much stripped himself bare for Jon the past two days, shared most of himself and his secrets. It’s the least Jon can do, to give him this.

He reaches out, drapes his arm over Brendon’s hip and pulls him closer so they’re shoved up tight and close against each other.

“Yeah,” Jon says, “once.”

Brendon looks at him, waiting, but Jon doesn’t say more about it.

They lay like that for a little while until Jon’s about to fall asleep. Brendon turns his head as Jon crawls out of the bunk and mumbles, “‘night,” before Jon pulls the curtain closed.

* * *

It’s kind of accidental, is the thing. At least that’s what he’s trying to convince himself of.

The following morning he’s the last one up and everyone’s up front. He’s not thinking about anything but coffee and maybe convincing Bus Driver Dave to stop for donuts until he passes by Brendon’s bunk, the curtain just barely drawn.

If he hadn’t know about it, he wouldn’t have thought twice about the glimpse of pale blue cotton shoved inside the pillow case just barely peeking out. He wouldn’t have noticed.

But he’s noticed. His breathing sounds loud in his ears, he can barely hear the early morning chatter above the sound.

He’s alone back here and no on can see him and he thinks, don’t do it, for a split second before he pulls the panties from the pillow case and shoves them in his pocket. It barely makes a bump, it’s so little, tiny. He feels like he might pass out, like maybe he should put them back, Brendon might notice. But that’s replaced by the fact that now he’s half hard, Brendon’s dirty underwear hidden in the pocket of his jeans.

He ducks into the bathroom to make sure his jeans are loose enough to hide the fact that he’s got half an erection going on.

He glances at his reflection and thinks he looks guilty as hell. He’s paranoid though, he gets this, so he brushes his teeth, splashes cool water on his face and goes to find some coffee.

* * *

He spends the whole day with Brendon’s panties in his pocket. He doesn’t once forget about them but eventually he settles down and stops feeling like anyone could look at him and _know_.

When it’s time for the show, he folds his jeans up and shoves them in his backpack, absolutely refuses to leave them around for anyone to find, lest the underwear slip out.

Later, he slips into his bunk, dressed for bed, and shoves the panties under his pillow, waiting for everyone to fall asleep.

When he pulls them back out, he’s already hard but he doesn’t touch himself, not yet. He presses the blue scrap of material to his face and inhales as deeply as he can. And yeah, they’re dirty, which is what he was hoping when he pulled them from Brendon’s bunk but the smell of Brendon’s come on the soft cotton just completely overwhelms him and he groans, freaks out and bites his lip, god fuck, that’s just what he needs. He presses the heel of his palm hard against his cock, against the worn material of his pajamas and breathes in the smell of Brendon, salty and sweaty and all boy.

Oh god, he hasn’t even gotten skin on skin contact yet and he’s going to come.

He pushes his hand into his underwear, touches his thumb to the head of his dick. Normally he’d pull the lotion from the corner of his bunk but he doesn’t need it, smears the pre-come around the tip, gathers it in his palm and slides his hand down the length of his dick, arching into his fist.

He doesn’t bother starting slow, just moves his wrist in a quick steady rhythm, Brendon’s panties pressed up under his nose and thinks about the ten minutes before the show earlier, when he watched Brendon lean over looking for something, the impossibly tight material of his pants puling taut, and there it was, barely noticeable if you weren’t trying to notice, the slight outline of something that clearly wasn’t boy’s underwear, the cut all wrong.

Brendon had turned then, still bent over, looking over his shoulder, caught Jon’s eye and his expression changed, slipped into something knowing and dark.

Jon squeezes his hand a little as the feeling in his stomach builds, spreads out from his toes and fingers and he wants to make it go longer but he can’t, fuck. Frantically, his brain racing, the image switches to Brendon on his back in just the same pair of pale pink panties Jon saw him in the other day, his hand inside, jerking his dick and that’s all it takes, Jon’s hips snap up off the bed and he comes, his teeth caught hard in his lip, trying to make as little sound as possible.

He jerks his dick through it, pulls his hand out and wipes it on his pajama pants. He rolls over, shoves the underwear under the corner of his mattress and stretches out on his stomach. It takes him less than thirty seconds to pass out.

* * *

Nothing’s changed but everything has and Jon is hyper aware of everything Brendon does, finds himself watching him more than he ever had before.

Brendon doesn’t move or act or talk or look like someone who has a secret. He’s just the same as he’s always been, affectionate and smiley, even when he’s tired.

He’s not so much that way with Jon these days, but that’s Jon’s doing, so in that way, things are different. But if anyone notices, no one says anything about it. Brendon just spends more time sharing the sofa with Spencer, more time falling asleep on Ryan and less time touching Jon.

That’s fine, it’s for the best.

Things are fine. Good. The same.

Except now, Jon jerks off every night with Brendon’s same blue pair of underwear in his hand, and now more often than not he has weird dreams involving Brendon that are in no way sexual but Jon still wakes up, heart pounding, trying to catch his breath, his cock hard.

There’s something building up, something kind of big and Jon feels like it could be pretty fucking amazing if he could just let it happen. The ball’s pretty much in his court.

Tom used to mercilessly tease Jon about his romantic side. Jon’s all about gestures. It’s not really planned, but he finds himself standing in front of the display window of Victoria’s Secret somewhere in the midwest and thinks he’s found his gesture.

They have a blessed day off and Jon didn’t argue when Spencer pulled Jon out of his bunk and said, “Shopping,” while Jon was rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

Spencer’s ditched him because Jon wasn’t enthusiastic about standing in the middle of Forever 21 while Spencer tried on forty-seven variations of the same tiny t-shirt.

So Jon’s found the Victoria’s Secret and he’s staring at a display of lacy string bikini panties in a dark green color he thinks would look nice with Brendon’s pale, smooth skin trying to sort out how bad of an idea this really is.

He’s standing there like a pervert, staring in through the window when his brain flashes to Brendon’s bright smile, to the way his voice sounded, soft and dreamy when he’d described how it made him feel. And Jon’s walking in before he can talk himself out of it.

The sales woman immediately comes over and Jon’s palms are sweating as he tells her about his ‘girlfriend’ who’s a size small, maybe a medium he’s not really sure.

“This is a fishnet and lace, Brazilian-cut panty,” she says like Jon has any idea what she’s talking about. She holds up a pair in black with bright pink lace trim and a tiny bow in the center, right where the panties dip slightly. It doesn’t take much to imagine Brendon in them, the way they cut high in the back and how they would look pulled tight across Brendon’s ass, or the little dip of the waist band and the tiny bow riding low where he should have hair but his skin is completely smooth, the way the lace would look stretched around the line of his cock.

Jon feels himself getting flushed and flustered but it doesn’t take him less than a second to decide on them. The sales lady asks about bra size and Jon says, “actually, do you. Um, do you have any, uh, tank top...things?” Camisoles, is the word he’s thinking but she just smiles indulgently and shows him to a separate table where there’s a matching scrap of black fishnet and lace with the same pink edging, thin straps and a tiny pink bow. Jon picks out a small one, thinks of the way the lace’ll cling to Brendon’s skin.

Jon pays and the woman wraps the underwear in pink tissue paper and reaches for a pink gift bag with the logo splashed across it. Jon tosses the bag in the garbage as soon as he’s left the store. He finds a kiosk selling baseball cards and asks for one of their simple brown, logo-less bags.

Jon waits for Spencer with a strawberry Orange Julius and spends the next hour trying to figure out the best way to give Brendon his gift. And then he thinks, shit, ulterior motive, which he of course has but he doesn’t want Brendon to think he does.

 _Shut up_ , he tells himself.

A day off means hotel night so Jon and Spencer go to the hotel, Spencer with several bags of clothes and Jon with his own package tucked into the pocket of his hoodie.

Spencer’s sharing a room with Brendon so Jon follows him back. Brendon’s not there, off somewhere with Zack so Jon carefully tucks the paper bag into the front pocket of Brendon’s duffle bag where he’ll see it and slips out to go take a very cold shower.

* * *

Brendon corners Jon in the hallway as they’re going to dinner, actually pulls him into the tiny room with the vending machines and crowds him up against the door. He doesn’t look angry, which is a good sign.

Jon’s aware he’s breathing way too loudly.

Brendon grabs Jon’s wrists, pushes Jon’s hands past the waist of Brendon’s jeans. His fingertips brush lace and nylon at Brendon’s hips. They sit a lot lower than Brendon’s other underwear, so low Jon thinks if Brendon gets hard, the panties won’t cover his dick.

Brendon lets Jon stand there with his hands on his skin for a moment and then he leans forward, moves so Jon’s hands slide to his ass and their hips are as lined up as they can get with the difference in height.

“Thank you,” Brendon mumbles against Jon’s neck where he’s breathing into the damp skin. It’s suddenly painfully hot, the air heavy.

“Yeah,” Jon breathes. “You’re welcome.”

Brendon rubs himself a little against Jon’s hip and makes a low quiet moan against Jon’s skin that he feels rumble through Brendon.

Jon digs his fingers in a little, just to feel Brendon’s ass under his hands and Brendon arches back into it, rubbing forward and pushing back.

“Jon,” Brendon mumbles, shaping the words into Jon’s skin. He pulls back and he’s flushed and a little sweaty. Jon inhales, breathes Brendon in.

Brendon curls his fingers in Jon’s hair which is sweaty and sticking to the back of his neck. “You should kiss me now,” Brendon says but it’s a little unsure, not as confident as the last time in that bathroom.

Jon’s brain is absolutely not big enough for all the thoughts running around in it. His eyes fall to Brendon’s mouth, his lower lip slick and wet and full. Okay, he thinks, good idea.

When their mouths touch, it’s chaste and slow, like last time except this time Brendon digs his fingers into Jon’s skull, and doesn’t let him pull away. Jon pulls one hand out of Brendon’s jeans to slide up under his t-shirt, and oh, he’s wearing the camisole also, the lace soft under Jon’s fingertips. He shoves it aside to get his hand on bare, warm, smooth skin. Jon doesn’t know how Brendon gets himself so completely hairless but the feel of all that soft skin under Jon’s hand makes him push his hips harder into Brendon.

Brendon opens his mouth, slides his tongue out alongside Jon’s and Jon groans.

Brendon tastes like he smells, a little sweet, a little salty.

Brendon pulls away first. He leans his forehead against Jon’s, his breath warm against Jon’s cheek. “We should go,” he whispers.

Jon has to go jerk off first and he figures Brendon would be completely unfooled by any excuse about needing something from his room so he just says, “um, I’ll meet you down there,” with a sheepish grin.

* * *

Jon doesn’t know what Brendon says to Spencer but it’s effective in getting Spencer out of the room. It’s just Jon when he goes back to the room after dinner, to watch TV or call Tom or maybe just fall asleep early.

And then Brendon shows up. Jon answers the door in bare feet, baggy threadbare sweat pants and a t-shirt he stole off Patrick a while back.

Brendon pushes Jon into the room, lets the door slam shut behind them and practically crawls up Jon like he’s climbing a tree, wrapping one leg around Jon’s waist in a very unexpected and flexible move. Jon lets out a startled huff and gets his hands under Brendon’s ass to push him up and then Brendon’s got both legs around Jon’s waist and they’re just standing there like a couple of morons.

“Hi,” Brendon says on a rush of air, a slight smile curving the edges of his mouth.

“Well hello there,” Jon agrees and Brendon grins then like he can’t help it and presses his mouth to Jon’s.

Brendon is not as light as he looks and Jon has a queen size bed waiting for them. He manages to stumble over and set Brendon down. They pull apart and Jon stands there looking down at Brendon who’s sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Jon with big eyes and wet, pink lips.

Jon hooks his finger in the neck of Brendon’s t-shirt and pulls it out a little.

“I want to see,” he says quietly, stroking his thumb over the soft skin of Brendon’s collarbone.

Brendon tilts his head back slightly, and shivers a little.

He reaches for the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it up and over. And Jon wants to congratulate himself on picking the right size because it clings to Brendon’s torso in just the right way and it’s a startling contrast between the feminine lace and the broadness of Brendon’s chest and shoulders, so obviously not a girl.

Jon slips his finger under one delicate lace strap where it stands out in dark contrast to Brendon’s pale skin, the slope of his shoulder and down to where it swells just barely over Brendon’s chest muscles. Jon slides his finger back and forth over the skin and still can’t get over how it feels, all that smooth skin, hairless and soft.

Brendon’s looking up at him, completely still except for the uneven rise and fall of his chest as he pulls in air, ragged.

“You look good in this,” Jon says on a whisper, afraid to break the moment. His hand slides lower underneath the camisole and his thumb nail passes and catches on Brendon’s nipple.

Brendon’s eyes widen and he gasps, arching into it.

Jon pulls Brendon up with a hand wrapped around his upper arm. “I want to see for real,” he says and his fingers go to Brendon’s jeans. He wants to see all of Brendon, see the full effect of Brendon in his girly underwear, his legs and arms and chest hairless.

Jon fumbles the snaps, gets Brendon’s jeans open and yanks them clumsily to the floor, falling to his knees to help Brendon step out of them. Brendon braces his hand on Jon’s shoulder and lifts first one foot and then the other and then he’s standing in front of Jon in just the underwear Jon bought him.  
 And Jon was right, fuck, Brendon looks amazing in the panties, smaller than the bikini briefs he usually wears so that they just barely cover the slope of his ass. They make his legs look longer because of how high they’re cut and they dig just barely into the muscles of his thighs.

The camisole stops above his belly button and there’s four inches of pale skin between the hem and the waist of the panties.

Brendon’s hard and his dick is pushing up against the material, the head visible above the waistline, moisture on the tip.

Jon looks up, hands braced on Brendon’s hips and Brendon’s biting his lip, eyes closed like he’s unsure of what’s happening.

“Brendon,” Jon says on a low hum, pressing his lips just above Brendon’s knee.

Brendon’s eyes fly open. He pushes his fingers into Jon’s hair, brushes it out of his eyes and lets his hand rest there, tentative and uncertain.

“Talk to me,” Jon murmurs, sliding his lips up slowly along the inside of Brendon’s thigh were the muscle definition is most definitely masculine.

Brendon doesn’t say anything so Jon prompts him. “Do you like your gift?” he asks even though the answer is obvious.

“Yes,” Brendon breathes, “the lace.” His fingers fall absentmindedly to the panties and he rubs them over his dick. “Fuck, it feels,” he stops on a shudder and pushes his hips forward into his hand. “So fucking soft.”

Jon lifts his head, presses his mouth to Brendon’s fingers where they’re curled around his cock, rubbing.

He looks up and he can tell from the frantic look in Brendon’s eyes, the sweat beading at the base of his throat that he’s about to come.

Jon nudges Brendon’s fingers out of the way, presses his mouth, lips parted to the hard line of Brendon’s dick against the wispy black lace and just breathes into it. He can smell Brendon, sweat and pre-come and it’s musky, makes Jon press his palm against the front of his sweat pants.

Brendon’s fingers tighten in Jon’s hair and Jon hums a low sound of approval and then Brendon goes tense, back arching and comes with a shudder and a low groan.

Jon keeps his mouth there, just breathes, as Brendon tries to catch his breath.

He pulls back slightly and looks up. Brendon’s sweaty and rosy pink and Jon can smell him, the come on his belly, staining the black lace.

“Fuck,” Jon mumbles, rubbing his nose against the bare skin of Brendon’s stomach. He works his hand a little faster, a little harder and feels the tension gathering at the base of his spine, the heat pooling low.

Jon’s going to come, all he needs is a little something more. He smears the fingers of his free hand through the come striping Brendon’s skin. He’s too far gone to care that Brendon’s watching him, he brings his fingers to his nose, inhales. Brendon makes a startled noise then, something low and shocked and Jon falls forward, forehead knocking against Brendon’s hip and comes.

Jon doesn’t have time to catch his breath before Brendon’s clambering forward, falling carelessly to straddle Jon’s hips. His hands come up, palming Jon’s face and he crushes their mouths together. Jon’s sweatpants are stained wet and his dick’s a little over-sensitized but it doesn’t matter, Brendon just collapses on him, rocking forward a little and breathing hotly into Jon’s mouth.

Jon presses his hands flat to Brendon’s lower back where the tank top’s ridden up and Brendon shivers and shifts closer, their chests pressed tight against each other.

Jon’s fingers slip in the sweat on Brendon’s skin and his hand slides lower, low enough to feel the dip of Brendon’s ass. Jon pushes his finger lower, traces it over the line of Brendon’s ass and down enough to feel where it puckers.

Brendon freezes and Jon pulls his hand out cause, woah, too much too much.

Jon puts his hand safely at Brendon’s hip, uses his other one to brush his fingers across Brendon’s jaw, soothing.

The kiss slows down a bit, becomes more a lazy slide of mouths and tongues than anything frantic.

It gets a little uncomfortable when the come starts to cool. Jon gradually ends the kiss, pulling back so it’s just closed mouths touching.

“I need a shower,” he says. He touches his lips once more to the corner of Brendon’s mouth and pulls away. Brendon’s got his arms draped loosely over Jon’s shoulders and when Jon can see his face, he’s got a lazy sleepy smile making his eyes warm and twinkly.

“Me too,” Brendon agrees but doesn’t say anything else, just lifts himself to slightly unsteady legs.

Jon stands up with him, hands Brendon his jeans and watches as Brendon pulls them on, watches his secret disappear beneath his clothes.

It gets awkward for a second then, when Brendon’s dressed and ready to leave and that’s the part Jon fucking hates so he pulls Brendon in by his belt loop and kisses him soft and open-mouthed.

When he pulls back, Brendon looks like he’s figured something out. “Okay,” he says with a tilt of his head.

* * *

Jon’s pretty sure Brendon finds his blue panties by accident. Jon just wasn’t very good about shoving them completely out of sight when he finished jerking off this morning.

Jon comes into the quiet, mostly empty bus after a quick phone call from his brother and Brendon’s in Jon’s bunk, or rather sitting on the edge of it holding that same pair of underwear and staring at them blankly.

Jon feels his stomach drop out.

“Um,” he says, standing dumbly in front of Brendon.

Brendon just stares at his hands, at the cotton so obviously unwashed. “I’ve been looking for these everywhere,” he mumbles.

Jon can’t think of a single thing to say. He feels like he should apologize but he’s not sure what for so just stands there and watches Brendon.

After the most awkward silence of his life, Jon just shifts and says, “look. They just. They smell like you.”

Brendon looks up then. His expression is neutral, he doesn’t look especially happy but he’s not the opposite either, so that’s something. “And that’s. A good thing?”

Jon exhales sharply, “fuck, you have no idea,” he huffs out.

“You should tell me about it,” Brendon says then, getting up and pushing Jon against the opposite wall of bunks. He pushes the panties up underneath Jon’s nose and Jon doesn’t push them away, just inhales and he knows Brendon feels it when he shudders, his dick getting hard almost immediately.

Brendon’s breathing a little shallowly now and he’s pink all over. Embarrassed, maybe. Which is unexpected.

“What do you do?” Brendon asks softly, like he’s asking for a secret.

“I smell them,” Jon breathes, “and fuck, I jerk off.”

“Do you come?” Brendon’s breathless, his voice ragged.

Jon groans. “Yes, fuck. Every time.”

He’s just talking now, it’s all spilling out like he can’t help it, the smell of Brendon’s come heavy and everywhere, Brendon’s leg pushed between his thighs. “The first time, I don’t know, it was an accident and I just, I came harder than I have, ever. It just. You smell so good,” Jon breathes, the words brushing Brendon’s skin.

Brendon pushes his face against Jon’s throat and works his hips a little faster, a little harder.

Fuck this. The bus is empty, they’ll be able to hear the doors open, and this is not enough. Jon presses his palm to Brendon’s dick, through layers of lace and denim and works his wrist.

“Last night,” Brendon breathes and Jon groans because fuck, last night.

“Yeah,” Jon mumbles.

“I didn’t know,” Brendon says and Jon nods frantically, it’s okay, he didn’t either, not at first.

“Is it. A thing?” Jon gets what Brendon’s asking and no, this is new and different and completely unexpected. He shakes his head. “Just you,” he says, panting. “I just. I fucking love the way you smell.”

Brendon comes and Jon falls to the floor, works Brendon’s jeans around his thighs and pulls his panties down just enough to catch the come cooling there, low on his skin, hairless and so different than anything Jon’s seen. He rubs his nose there, against the come wet skin and inhales, shuddering and comes with nothing but the friction of his jeans tight around his dick.

“Oh Jesus,” Brendon mumbles and yanks Jon up. They kiss like that, pressed against the bunks, Brendon’s jeans around his thighs, his pale green panties soaked with come.

Jon pushes a hand between them and runs his fingers over the clammy skin right above Brendon’s dick where there should be hair.

“This. Do you. Do you wax?” he mumbles, the thought painful and making him wince a little. Brendon smiles a half, embarrassed smile. “Shave,” he admits.

And that’s. Wow, that’s hotter than Jon could have imagined, the idea of Brendon working a razor over his skin, wet soapy fingers wrapped around his dick, holding it out of the way, careful of nicking himself.

Brendon huffs out a startled laugh and says, “you could help, if you wanted.”

And Jon just pushes his tongue into Brendon’s mouth and rubs his dick, already half hard again, against Brendon’s thigh.

* * *

It’s another five days before they get a hotel, and Jon counts every single one of them. He spends the next nights with Brendon pressed up against the wall of his bunk, in just his panties, rubbing Brendon through the thin fabric, Brendon’s head back against the pillows, skin slick with sweat. Or one night, with Brendon kneeling above him in just a lacy tank top, his dick hard, thrusting into his fist and coming on Jon’s bare chest.

Brendon asks him the next afternoon, lips pressed to his ear, “you didn’t even shower, did you?” and Jon moans and shakes his head. He’s spent the whole day hard because of it, smelling Brendon on him, rubbing his fingers over his stomach and the dried come.

Later as they’re falling asleep, Brendon mumbles sleepy and disoriented, “I didn’t know it was possible to be kinkier than me.”

And that’s the first time he’s said anything about it, other than as a fact. That maybe there’s something a little different about what he does and the fact that he hasn’t worn anything other than women’s underwear in almost five months.

Jon kisses the soft skin below Brendon’s jaw and tries to let him know it’s okay. He doesn’t really know if it is. He wants it to be, he wants this to be something that just is. But there’s so much about it that’s complicated.

* * *

The fifth morning Brendon wakes Jon with a handjob. After he’s wiped Jon’s come on the soft cotton of Jon’s pajamas he climbs over Jon, presses his mouth to Jon’s skin and rubs himself against Jon’s hip until he comes all over Jon’s stomach, hot and open mouthed.

They spend the day in interviews, smiling goofily at each other and being dorks. Spencer catches Brendon ducking his head and hiding his grin when Jon whispers something dirty and promising in his ear and Spencer bugs Jon about it until Jon just says, “none of your business” with a dirty grin that probably tells Spencer more than he wanted to know.

It’s late, well past midnight when they finally check in to their hotel.

Jon gets a call and he actually has to take it since it’s his mom and it’s been a few days and if he doesn’t answer she’s just going to keep calling. He wanders outside to sit in the muggy hot night air and it’s twenty minutes of her asking about the band and if he’s looking after himself and eating right and he mostly just nods and gives one word answers and thinks about Brendon.

They hang up after Jon mumbles, “love you, too Mom,” and Jon switches his phone to silent and goes back to the room.

He gets the door unlocked and stumbles to a stop because Brendon’s waiting, sitting at the foot of the bed watching something on TV. And he’s wearing just a pair of dark purple panties and a matching half camisole.

He looks up when the door opens. He fumbles for the remote to turn the TV off and then he’s standing. Jon closes the door and meets Brendon in the middle.

Brendon opens his mouth to say something and Jon just falls to his knees, grace and poise completely gone now that he has this, _Brendon_ here. The two of them in this big empty room and Jon’s never been more nervous in his life.

Up close he can tell from the delicate material that these aren’t Victoria’s Secret, these are something different, more expensive and fancier.

Jon sits back on his knees and just takes it all in, Brendon’s smooth skin, soft under his fingertips. He touches the inside of Brendon’s knee where there’s just the barest hint of razor burn but otherwise the skin is soft under his palm.

Jon leans forward and presses his lips to that red patch of skin and Brendon hisses a little, stumbling just slightly and bracing his hand on Jon’s shoulder.

Jon licks the angry bumps from the razor and Brendon dissolves a little, sags against him. Jon presses tiny open-mouthed kisses up the inside of Brendon’s thigh and listens to the hitch in Brendon’s breathing, feels the tension under his palms.

The panties smell like come, and they’re sticky when Jon presses his nose to them, inhaling deeply. Fuck. He presses his cheek to the material, rubs a little against Brendon’s dick, hard and leaking wet against the fabric.

“Fuck,” Jon mumbles, breathing in Brendon. “You came already.”

Brendon huffs, startled. “Had to, fuck, or this would be over in ten seconds.” He licks his lips and says, “don’t lie, you love it.”

Jon opens his mouth over the wet fabric, touches his tongue to the bitter salt taste and makes a low hum of agreement.

Brendon’s fingers tighten on Jon’s shoulder and he moves his hips a little, begging for something.

Jon shoves his hand down the front of his pants, curling around his dick and tightens his fingers, arching a little and licking a little harder, a little more insistent, sliding his tongue along the line of Brendon’s cock.

Jon yanks his hand from his pants because this is not how he wants this to go. He gets to his feet, kisses Brendon once, hard and wet, and manages to get them both to the bed.

He pushes gently and Brendon scoots up and back until he’s lying back against the pillows.

Later, if Brendon’s okay with it, he wants to take some pictures, play around with his camera and Brendon so he can save this memory.

Jon pushes Brendon’s arms above his head, presses his nose to the damp skin under his arm, completely hairless and smooth.

Brendon sighs, a shaky little breath, and Jon kisses the hollow. He smells like deodorant, something odorless and clear, and when Jon licks him there it’s just the chemical taste and a little bit like soap.

Brendon arches, hips pushing up off the bed and Jon just holds him there, shoving his arms more firmly into the mattress, opening his mouth wider for more skin, damp under his tongue. Brendon lets his legs fall open and Jon presses his hips against him, gets them so they’re cocks rub together. Brendon arches, completely helpless under Jon and Jon just works his hips harder and licks the slight taste of sweat and soap from Brendon’s skin.

Jon lets go of Brendon’s wrists and moves down the bed. He licks the pale expanse of skin between where the camisole’s shifted up and the waist of Brendon’s panties, licks the skin, soft and completely bare, Brendon’s muscles shifting and flexing under his tongue.

Jon licks down, across the silky fabric, the head of Brendon’s dick and the taste of pre-come. He shifts so he’s lying on his stomach between Brendon’s legs, his nose pressed to Brendon’s underwear.

Jon licks his index finger, pushes Brendon’s panties out of the way and presses the tip to Brendon’s hole, just resting it there for a second, taking his cue from Brendon. He looks up and Brendon’s watching him, looking dazed and out of it. Jon presses the palm of his free hand to Brendon’s dick, rubs just a little as he pushes his finger just a little, a fraction of an inch until it pushes past the resistance.

Brendon makes a little “ah ah” sound and moves his hips down.

Jon kisses Brendon’s thigh, looks up and says, hoarse and rough, “do you want to?”

Brendon nods frantically, hisses, “yes, fuck.”

Jon grins and pulls his hand away. “Um. Do you have any stuff?”

Brendon isn’t all that coherent when he mumbles and waves in the direction of the other bed and his duffle.

“Okay.” Jon moves up to kiss Brendon once and rolls off the bed. He finds the lube, sets it on the bed and gets naked faster than he’s ever gotten undressed in his life. Jon climbs up on the bed, unfolds himself so he’s lying on his back next to Brendon. He grips Brendon’s hip and rolls him, helps him get so he’s straddling Jon’s hips.

“I’ll buy you more,” Jon promises and pushes the underwear to the side as he rubs the head of his dick against Brendon’s hole, rubbing the pre-come there, getting Brendon’s skin slick with it. He reaches for the lube but Brendon grabs it first, slicks his hand up and reaches behind him to fist Jon’s dick, slides his hand a couple of times until Jon groans and has to bite his lip and focus on not coming.

Brendon’s breathing hard and rubbing himself against Jon’s dick. Jon settles his hands at Brendon’s waist. “Okay?”

Brendon’s eyes are unfocused, glazed, and he nods, raises up onto his knees so the head of Jon’s cock pushes against him. Brendon digs his teeth into his lower lip, eyes locked on Jon’s and hisses as he lowers himself a little so Jon can push in, just a little.

It’s just. Fuck, absolutely the hottest, most obscenely dirty thing he’s ever seen, Brendon sinking down onto his cock, his lacy panties stretched around where Jon’s dick pushes into him, his own cock pushing hard and wet at the tip against the lace, the head jutting out of the waistband.

“Fuck,” Jon hisses, arching as Brendon shifts and slides all the way down.

Brendon lets out a shaky moan and his head falls back, his throat pale and glistening with sweat, skin flushed pink where it disappears into the lacy tank top.

Jon’s never felt anything this intense. He digs his fingers into the soft skin high up on Brendon’s thighs, watches the muscles tighten under his hands. Brendon’s dick is pushing against the panties,the soft material stained wet already, the tip smearing wetly against his belly as he moves, twists his hips and rocks a little, slow and working towards a rhythm.

“God, Brendon,” Jon breathes, arching up off the bed and squeezing his hands a little tighter on Brendon’s thighs.

“Harder,” Brendon mumbles, head down.

“Look at me.” Jon pushes his hands up higher to slip his thumb underneath the leg of the panties, already stretched out tight around where Jon’s dick pushes up into Brendon.

Brendon lets out a ragged breath and lifts his head, staring at Jon with eyes completely dark, mouth wet and slightly swollen. Jon watches the uneven rise and fall of his chest as he pulls in air. His skin is mottled and pink where it disappears under the lace of the camisole.

Jon moves one hand up to cup the back of Brendon’s neck and pull him down until they’re pressed chest to chest. It forces the angle to change, drives Jon’s dick up harder into Brendon and he cries out, his teeth catching on Jon’s lower lip.

Jon braces his other hand on Brendon’s lower back where the skin is slick with sweat, hold him close as he works his hips up, hard and fast.

Brendon dissolves, goes completely limp, panting into Jon’s mouth and making low sounds.

“Tell me,” Jon gasps and Brendon shudders above him, tightening almost imperceptibly. “I feel, oh god, so much. Full, stretched, fuck, it’s good.” He hisses as Jon changes the rhythm, uses his hand on Brendon’s waist to lift him up so just the tip of his cock is inside Brendon, waits until Brendon inhales an shaky breath then thrusts up, pushing all the way back in on one quick shove.

Jon’s about four seconds from coming. He pushes gently at Brendon’s shoulder. Brendon sits up and Jon stops moving, lets Brendon control the pace and rhythm and he’s doing some slow dirty grind, moving his hips in a smooth sort of circle, just working Jon’s cock inside himself.

Jon watches, eyes heavy, as it slowly builds. He presses his fingers to Brendon’s panties, traces where the material is wet.

Brendon moans and grabs Jon’s wrist, pressing his hand harder against himself and his hips move faster, rocking harder. Jon licks the thumb of his other hand, smears it across the tip of Brendon’s cock where it juts up from the lace-lined waist of Brendon’s panties and Brendon goes still for a second, tightening around Jon’s dick, and comes hot and wet on Jon’s hand.

Jon rubs him through it until Brendon winces and pushes his hand away. Brendon closes his eyes and Jon just barely hears him mumble, “come on my face.”

Jon almost comes right there instead but Brendon slowly, gingerly pulling off is enough to slow it down for a second, just a bit.

Brendon straddles Jon’s thighs and before Jon has a chance to think _wait, ug, gross_ Brendon’s taking Jon into his mouth.

Jon babbles something incoherent and meaningless. Brendon grabs Jon’s wrist, places his hand on his head and pulls off enough to look up and say “touch me.”

And Jon does, pushes his fingers through Brendon’s hair, soft and damp with sweat. He tightens a little when Brendon tries to take him deeper and gags a little.

“Hey, slow down, it’s okay,” Jon pants out. Brendon pulls back to suck on just the head and wrap his hand around Jon’s dick and Jon pushes Brendon back and comes on his parted lips, his cheek, his jaw.

It takes a few minutes for Jon to catch his breath. He wraps an arm around Brendon’s waist and hauls him up to lay over him. Brendon’s half hard already against Jon’s hip and Jon just huffs out a laugh and kisses him, pushing his mouth open with his tongue, sliding his lips over his cheek and jaw, licking his skin clean.

They make out for a little bit, Brendon slowly moving his hips against Jon’s, licking into his mouth and making pleased noises.

“Take a shower with me,” Brendon says after a while, eyes pleading and smiley and Jon’s never going to say no to something Brendon asks for like that.

“Ugh, can’t move,” Jon groans and Brendon just rolls his eyes and crawls off the bed, yanking Jon up after him, dragging him into the bathroom.

Jon turns the water on and watches Brendon pull his underwear down and off, looking oddly self-conscious, like they didn’t just fuck five minutes ago.

Before Brendon can toss the panties aside Jon reaches for Brendon’s wrist, brings them to his nose, one arm pulling Brendon in against him. He inhales and Brendon makes a low noise against his bare shoulder.

Brendon blushes when Jon gives him a teasing smile and a low, “mmm.”

He pushes at Jon’s face and Jon just kisses him, quick and hard.

Jon gets them both in the shower and under the hot water, kissing and touching each other, slowly, not a build up of any kind, just soft kisses and hands lightly skimming over each other.

They wash each other and Brendon keeps smiling, catching himself and ducking his head and it’s the most endearing thing Jon’s ever seen.

Afterwards, Jon watches Brendon reach in for a clean pair of underwear. This time it’s something casual, tiny boy-cut shorts in pink with little tiny green flowers and bows.

Brendon straightens up, catches Jon watching him and just tilts his head invitingly.

“I like these,” Jon says, trailing his thumb along the waist.

Brendon smiles.

* * *

“Hey,” Brendon mumbles, low and sweet, when Jon opens his eyes.

It’s not yet morning, just the dim light of almost dawn seeping in through the curtains.

Jon shifts a little, stretching. He touches his fingertips to Brendon’s lips. “Can’t sleep?”

Brendon opens his mouth, just a little, his tongue barely grazing the tip of Jon’s finger.

Brendon shrugs and moves closer so they’re pressed side to side against each other.

Jon slides his hand under the blankets to Brendon’s hip, slips his fingers down Brendon’s ass, slides them inside the waist of his panties.

Brendon hums, open-mouthed against Jon’s cheek as Jon traces his finger down the crack of Brendon’s ass.

He buries his face a little in Jon's shoulder as he pushes back into Jon’s touch.

“Hey,” Jon whispers, “don’t be embarrassed.”

Brendon smiles then, a shaky smile. “You either,” he breathes.

 

[ the end ]


End file.
